


Fidelity

by Arlyshawk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Depression, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he left, Elia's only ever been left with the one person that ever made her smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Contains major depression; if this bothers you, please turn back now.

Anders is gone. 

The scouts report he takes a ship from Amaranthine that sails for Kirkwall. There is no stopping him, he's too far gone for her to reach now. The swords she would exhaust could be put forth for darkspawn hunts of Deep Roads scouting while the spawn's numbers are low. She thinks one morning as she lays in bed, staring into the pitch black from the curtains that are pulled taut round her bed, that it's her fault. She brought him to her bed because she was lonely, because she needed the release of stress and beating up dummies weren't getting her anywhere… She remembers the way he would kiss her, always greedy, fingers knotted in her hair and pulling her to an alcove where he could kiss and bite whatever he could. 

Ghosts of his mouth and hands are on her belly and on her neck, she feels them when she touches the space where he was. The ache in her heart is strong, it twists the knife into her and yanks up when she thinks of how damned selfish she was, how she only wanted him because he's the only frisky thing that would dare sleep with the commander. Despite her efforts to keep them down, hot tears begin to pour down her cheeks. 

Everyone leaves her alone for hours, it seems, because she hears Nathaniel just outside her door, shooing off the guards that patrol outside her room as she asked many, many months ago. The shades of her past still haunt her, Vaughan's face twisting in a hot grin as he grabs Shianni, dragging her mother out onto the street as a girl because she died in the kitchen and she didn’t know what was wrong… 

Elia buries her face into the other pillow on the bed. She smells the cinnamon of Anders's hair and of the dusty old books that he kept track of in the library that clung to his robes. She sniffs, wipes the mucus from around her mouth with the back of her arm. A knock at her door brings out her voice; it crackles in her throat until she hears it come out with a cough. 

Nathaniel peels away the curtains and gives her a look that is pity and worry in one. She doesn't look at him; the knife her heart only twists more when he looks at her because this is her damned fault for letting Anders get away. 

His hand takes hers, his fingers warm and callused against hers, thumb running across the top of her knuckles.. And he lets her cry on his shoulder because it's her fault.. 

_It's her fault.._

~.~.~ 

Nathaniel takes her out hunting one day. 

She rides Birch, her sweet dusty brown gelding, into the thicket that Nathaniel knows so well. Birch has been a gift from King Cousland. One morning, he came before her in all of his handsomeness, amber eyes alight with the sort of mischief that she expects from him now, and offered her several horses. There had been a blue roan from Orlais, a black mare from Antiva, and an white stallion. But it had been Birch, who was Ferelden born, that approached her with his kind, brown eyes and nipped at her hair and let her actually touch him. Alexander had said nothing about it, simply waved a hand with a smile and said that he's only seen one other person have a horse take to them and that was Anora with her roan palfrey. 

Spring always yields bucks and does and a multitude of colorful birds that rise from cover as they pass. Doves coo above them, crows bicker, and she spies cardinals and robins and finches as well that warble or sing. Elia asks why he brings her to the forest - it's been a two months since Anders left - when they nearest the sea and he dismounts. Her Second turns his grey-blue eyes on her, innocent and honest. He tells her it's for her own good, because he needs her elven eyes to find pheasants or deer through the brush which she knows is a lie. Nathaniel is the type of archer that every single one of her scouts envy; he's the type that splits arrows down the middle and can see the twitch of a moth from across the room. 

She gets down with his help. He shoulders his family's bow, the one that's engraved with snarling bears and made from the finest yew. It had been his grandfather's - his mother's father, he tells her one night when he fixes a gash in it - and he always takes it hunting. For luck… 

Elia perches herself on a low hanging branch. Through the brush, she spies a pair of pheasants and he looses two arrows in quick succession but only one catches one pheasant. 

_It's her fault…_

~.~.~ 

Satinalia comes before she can blink, a year since Anders left almost. 

They've found another Grey Warden mage to become their healer, this time willingly, who is a sweet man and Antivan. It reminds her of Zevran, honestly, when he wasn't flirting with her. And on the day that the Keep celebrates, she spends her time in her solar with paperwork. Her downtime comes to an end when Clarel bothers her for warriors to help with keeping down the darkspawn in Orlais. She wants to throw up her hands because Clarel is so Orlesian it drives her mad - never mind that Ferelden dealt with a Blight not yet a year ago and that one man's betrayal killed _thousands_. 

She throws the papers from her desk and collapses in her chair. Her fingers bury in her hair, pulling at the roots. Her head spins, she wants to cry because she's sick to her stomach and so damned _angry_. It's hot in her veins, like whiskey down her throat. 

Nothing can get done.. _it's her fault,_ she think, _it's all my fault that the Keep is falling round my ankles._

Hot, fat tears roll down her cheeks before she can comprehend the swirling black pit that is in her heart. It grabs her by the throat with white-hot fingers until she chokes out a sob. 

A knock startles her, it's softly there. Without lifting her head, she knows its Nathaniel. He's the only one that dares approach her anymore, the others are too afraid but he remains fearless of her ire. She lashes out at Sigrun this last month for mentioning a mage and her fury is unbridled. In her fury, she broke a vase and got ceramic shards in her hands. Nathaniel had barked at her for breaking the vase - she had no excuse. 

He offers her a handkerchief, but she looks away from him. When he crouches down, he is nearly her height perhaps a bit shorter. Despite her efforts to keep him from touching her, he takes her chin with his thumb and index finger, helping her clean her face. 

"The others miss you, Elia," She notes how he says her name. It's a quiet reprimand, she can see the gravitas in his grey-blue eyes as he settles back on his heels. "You should see what Velanna managed to put up without breaking a thing." 

Elia shakes her head. 

He's quiet a moment, brows drawing together in thought. And then he looks at her, takes her fingers with his gloved hands. "I have something for you." 

" _Nathaniel_ -." 

"Stay here." 

Before she can complain, he's gone from her side and left the door open. When he comes back, he has a small grey something in his arms. He rests a tiny, fluffy kitten in her lap, grey as just burning smoke with eyes like green sea water. 

Her eyes blow wide, "A cat?" 

He strokes the kitten's head and it mewls loud at him, as if telling him to leave it alone, "I found her mother hiding her other babies. I took all four of them and the mother and brought them here. The cooks have been complaining about mice and well.." There's a genuine smile in his eyes, the first she's seen in a long time. "I figured you needed something other than myself to bother." 

The smile she gives him is forced. She scratches the kitten's ears and it throws back its head, mewing up at her. It's a girl, by the face. She rubs the kitten underneath the chin. And upon glancing up, Nathaniel is gone. 

Elia glances at the mess on her floor and picks up the kitten to begin cleaning it up. 

_It's her fault_ . 

~.~.~ 

It's been little over a year since Nathaniel gave her the kitten for Satinalia. Elia names her Ashe, for her fur color, and names the mother, Falon - the elvish word for friend. In the budding heat of summer, she does paperwork until her fingers are stained with black from propping her hands on the edges of the paper and her signet ring is hot from stamping scalding wax from a nearby onyx candle. 

Ashe plays with a feather on the floor, one that came from Velanna. It's long and bowed - a hawk feather from the bird she uses for messages. Elia smiles as the feather goes soaring from Ashe's feet and she must barrel after it, tail curled. 

Nathaniel stalks into her solar after her kitten goes galloping into hallway with another letter in his hand. His boots screech against the polished floor. Her ears ring ever so faintly, a cord in her neck pulls taut. 

"Maker's breath, Elia - How are you even able to see?" She's thankful he's so tall. She can just see the crown of his head as he parts the sea of paper to find her. "How many months of paperwork are you behind on?" 

"These are petitions," She pats a stack that she has to lean up to touch. "The rest are complaints from places _other_ than Ferelden about Darkspawn." 

Nathaniel shakes his head and sits on the edge of her desk, offering to take up a small stack. She admires the way his eyes focus on the words, the halo of sunshine on his back that traces the slope of his shoulders and the rich brown and black of his hair. The silver of his arm shimmers as he moves, choosing to prop himself up in the window seat that overlooks the courtyard and the great, ivory capped crests of the Waking Sea. He doesn't quite fit into it well, she notes, because his lean legs are perhaps too long and he has to squish himself up until he can really fit. 

There's a flood of heat to her ears and she ducks her head. Ever since a few months ago, she can't help but look at him. Before that she never considered him to be nothing more than a thorn in her side. But that all changed one cold, foggy morning. It had been icy still despite the sunshine and he had woke her up just when it began to lift, asking her to come with him since Sigrun was gone. She had gone, but had several of his cloaks on to keep her warm and she had to find a patch of sunlight to sit in to stay warm. He never said anything to her save that he was thankful that she came. Instead, he was focusing on his targets. He touched the white wood arrows that are fletched with jay feathers - she wonders if its reflex - before drawing two with the sort of grace and swiftness that she's only seen with their elven archers. One arrow found its mark - he hesitates before firing the second, just a hair though - the second splits the first down the middle. 

And then Elia remembers feeling her chest get hot from the way he combed his hand through his unbraided hair and the _damned_ smug smirk on his face that she used to hate so much but now it stirs things in her that she hasn't felt in what seems to be ages. 

"Elia!" She blinks out of her stupor and he's standing in front of her mahogany desk, hands bracing the edges. He suddenly tilts his head and blinks rather owlishly at her. "You're red in the ears again." 

_Shit._

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Elia says, trying to keep the snap out of her voice because she knows that he knows she's wrong. 

"Oh, so they turn red on their own; funny, I don't remember them doing that," Comes the dry remark. She bites her tongue, she wants to kick him. She chooses to scowl at him. "Before a few months ago they never did-" 

"Nate-." 

"I was practicing and suddenly you wanted to hide your face in my cloaks," And then he _looks_ at her the way she hates. His eyebrow lifts and his mouth pulls some damn thing between a hard line and a smirk that oozes the sort of nonsense she's used to now. "Elia, tell me." 

She growls, "You're an evil, evil man." 

Nathaniel sits on the edge of her desk, arms over his sternum, "Spit it out." 

"And if I don't want to?" 

"Then I'll keep bothering you about it." 

_Maker preserve me_ , she thinks before she musters the words in her head and then speaks, "I.. Perhaps love you more than a commander should her Second." 

And that gets his attention, despite the fact that her ears feel like they're on fire. She cups her hands and covers the tips as best she can, leaning on the desk. He turns and regards her curiously. "Do you?" 

"No," Her voice is a bite. "I said that for dramatic effect." 

Nathaniel chuckles quietly, shaking his head, "Well, that wouldn't be unlike you. But.. Answer me this - is it more than a lady should the man she loved?" 

Oh, if she could get away with it, she'd kick him and run away, probably even hide in a tree or something until he forgot about it. But this Nathaniel she's talking to, the man who sees _everything._ The problem is, he remembers what those handsome eyes see. She sits back in her chair, scowling. 

"Maker, I hate you," Elia whispers as she gets up. She needs to get away from him now before he does.. worse things to her heart and head, so terrible that she thinks that they might explode. But before she can cross the threshold, his hand is around her wrist and pulls her into him. And then something kicks alive in her, she's suddenly pushing and shoving at his face and struggling. 

But he takes a palm to the cheek and her futile attempts to get away. She knows that if she wanted to get away from him, she would have bitten him and kick at his solar plexus, she's fought more men than she's even cared to fight. 

His arms lock around her like vices, "I'll let you go the minute you tell me what has you so bothered!" 

"Let me go.." She says, deadpan. 

"Promise you won't run away?" 

Elia doesn't look at him, "On my mother's grave." 

And with that, he lets her go. Despite her efforts to keep her feelings under lock and key, it's useless. What she feels… Whatever it is, it's so strong that it makes her heart beat fast because the words on the edge of her tongue but not close enough to fall out. Anxiety ripples in her belly as he watches her from the doorway. 

"I love you more than a lady should the man she loves!" She blurts out once the words take a step out. She turns her green eyes on him, taking a deep breath. "I-I hate myself for being such an idiot! Commander's are _not_ supposed to fall in love with their Seconds, much less their soldiers. I-it's wrong!" 

Nathaniel shakes his head, "I don’t think it's as wrong as you think it is." 

Her hands plant on her hips, "Oh, do tell me because.. This damned feeling has been _eating_ at me for months! Ever since you took me out for archery practice, I can't stop thinking about you. I hate myself! I hate feeling this way!" 

He goes to her and takes her shoulders, his face a unreadable mask. She's breathing so hard that she's shaking in the hands and trembling down her spine. He squeezes her shoulders, "And yet, I knew it." 

She feels her breath catch, "Excuse me?" 

"I knew it," He repeats lower for her to hear. "I had inklings that you cared for me but I never wanted to force myself on you." Her mouth opens but he gives her a look that forces it shut. "And I want you to know that I care for you as well." 

"Since..?" 

His voice is a whisper, "Since I felt jealousy when you walked on Anders's arm. I didn’t want to keep you from possibly being happy, but when he hurt you… You are my friend, Elia, but I love you more than a friend should; I look at you and I see a beautiful woman, one who I'd die for, who I love despite the sheer fact that you drive me mad." 

She stands there, bewildered. Her eyes search his face, trying to find the tell that he's lying to her. His hands slide from her shoulders to her hands, slipping his fingers in between hers. She can't look at him, there's a feeling of disbelief in her throat that twists, 

Her hands are shaking again. 

"You mean it?" 

Quieter, "Look at me for a moment." 

She does as he says, but feels his mouth catch hers in a kiss that forces her back a step. Her hands let go of his - he's stealing the breath from her lungs and heat is spreading across her belly - and she runs up hands up into his thick ebon hair. His hands are on her waist, the heat of his skin is seeping through his gloves; he skin tingles at the feeling. 

She breaks from him, her fingers twisted in his hair and she's on her tip toes. Her lips throb pleasantly as she presses her tongue to the inside of them. Elia loosens her fingers from his hair, settling back on her heels to press that hand against his chest. 

There's a tender smile in his eyes, "Maker, of course I mean it." 


End file.
